Mess
by Jay Nice
Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Dean finds himself in a bad mental state. Luckily, he has Sam to bring him out of it. Weechesters. pre-series.


Dean's head was a mess. He was pretty sure that if someone split it open, they'd see the brain matter equivalent of ramen noodles. Everything was so twisted up and confused in there, he wouldn't be surprised if his brain soon started leaking through his nose. At least if that happened, he couldn't feel the guilt and anguish anymore.

Their bodies… He and Dad had been too late. It had been a _ghoul_. It looked like something out of a B-rated horror movie—the kind where they over-exaggerate the amount of blood that spurts from a human body—but it was _real_. Painfully, unmistakably real. Dad had told him to brace himself for the hideously grotesque ghoul, and Dean had. He'd seen ghouls before, and knew how disgusting they could look in their true forms. However, Dad hadn't told him to prepare for seeing the twin boys and their older sister _mauled_ when they broke into the house. Dean couldn't remember exactly what happened as he saw their bodies, but he recalled moments later finding himself dry-heaving on the ground with white-hot tears spilling out of his eyes. They'd been too late. The bodies were hardly distinguishable as humans.

And now Dean couldn't get those macabre images out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the scene clear as day. Nothing about the case was fading. He could remember every single detail—the exact shade of blood that had stained the walls and floors, the deformed ribs that stuck out of all three victims' chests, the scattered dismembered fingers.

And the worst part was that he needed Dad's support right now, but the man had left only minutes after returning to the motel in order to find and gank the ghoul that had gotten away. All he wanted was to cry into Dad's shoulder and be comforted from the demons in his mind. However, he had to take care of Sammy.

Their dinner was, ironically, ramen noodles. The smell nauseated Dean—the metallic smell of blood was still stuck in his nose—but he managed to get the meal cooked and served in a bowl for Sam. He wasn't hungry.

Sam must have noticed how he forwent dinner to slouch on the couch and stare listlessly at the dull television. "Dean?" he asked, spooning in a small mouthful of food. "Why aren't you eating? There's plenty for you."

"Not hungry, Sammy," Dean murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just the mention of eating something made his stomach roll dangerously.

Sam frowned and strode over to the couch, bringing his bowl with him. He shoved it in his brother's face. "Eat some, please," he begged.

Dean sighed and shook his head.

Sam only scooted closer to Dean. "Was the hunt bad?" the nine-year-old whispered, eyes wide and sympathetic.

Dean stiffened and nodded, folding his arms across his chest in attempt to sink into the couch. He really didn't want Sammy interrogating him about this.

Sam didn't say anything, only watching whatever black-and-white show that was playing. He continued to eat, no longer trying to make Dean eat. He knew how messed up his father could be after a hunt gone wrong, and it seemed as if Dean was in the same slump. He set down his dinner, suddenly not as hungry as he'd been before.

"Sam…," Dean said, his voice holding an unspoken warning.

"I'm really not too hungry," Sam offered with a shrug. "And if you're not eating, then I don't wanna eat."

Dean looked at Sam, and his green eyes were filled with pain. "I'll be okay, Sammy," he said in a low voice. "You should really eat that."

Sam leaned into his brother's side, hugging him tight. Dean sucked in a breath and shoved him away. "Stop, Sam. I—" His voice choked off, and he shook his head frantically. "Just leave me alone."

Sam frowned. He could see Dean's walls coming up, and the way he was curling himself into a tight little ball. His brother sighed wearily and laid his head down on the worn arm of the couch. Sam could see he didn't want to be bothered, so he stood up and emptied his bowl back into the large container of the noodles. They had enough for a few more days, it seemed. Good. Who knew how long Dad would be gone for? The ghoul hunt was here in town, but Dad could get… _distracted_.

Seeing as Dean definitely wanted to be left alone, Sam grabbed his book and sat on the bed, sparing a casual glance at his brother every so often. Dean laid there, unmoving. Sam was hopeful that he'd fallen asleep, seeing as his breaths were slow and steady. If Dean could escape whatever was haunting him by going to sleep, then Sam was all for it.

He read his book, plowing his way through two more chapters, until he saw Dean's figure jerk up through the corner of his eye. Dean hadn't been asleep for even twenty minutes, and now it seemed as if a nightmare had awoken him. Sam jumped off the bed and ran over to his brother. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean held his head in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. He shook his head stiffly, and Sam saw the admittance of weekend as an invitation to comfort his brother. He quickly enveloped Dean into a hug, and was surprised when he didn't resist the comforting touch. "Dean?" he asked again, more warily this time. This was way out of character for Dean.

"I-it's too much, S'mmy," Dean sobbed, pressing his face into Sam's shoulder. His fists were balled up in Sam's shirt like he never wanted to let go. "C-c-can't do i-it."

"Dean, it's okay," Sam whispered, rubbing Dean's back. He had no clue what was up; all he knew was that Dean needed him right now. What would Dean do for him if the situations were reversed? Sam wracked his brain, trying to think.

Dean would comfort him. He'd do everything he could to take Sam's mind off of the event. But what could Sam do to help _Dean_?

Sam bit his lip as an idea popped into his head. It was something Dean had done for him many times when he'd come out of nightmares. "Dean, I'm gonna go get something real quick. Stay here, I'll be back."

Dean let out a shuddering breath and loosened his grip slightly. Sam took that as his permission to leave the couch for a moment. He fetched the book that he'd been reading and resumed his position by his brother. Dean looked at him through bleary eyes, anguish etching across his face. "Sammy…," he murmured wearily.

"Just listen and relax, Dean," Sam said. "It's gonna be all right." And with that reassurance, he began reading aloud.

Sure, he stuttered a lot—he'd never been good at reading aloud—but soon enough he saw Dean's features relax. A small smile appeared across his lips as Sam's soft-spoken words filled the otherwise-quiet motel room and Sam beamed while reading to see that his plan was working. The haunted look seemed to vanish as one chapter passed, then two, then three…

Sam lost track of time, but soon the words before him began blurring and his eyes started drooping. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was 9:30. He stifled a yawn; he should be getting to bed, since tomorrow was Monday.

"All right, geek boy." Dean slowly slipped the nearly-finished novel from Sam's languid hands, a fond smile across his face. "I think it's about time you get to bed."

Sam looked at Dean warily, unsure if it was safe to leave Dean by himself. However, judging by the warm glow on his brother's face and the renewed light in his eyes, Sam nodded his consent to Dean's proposition. He sluggishly put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth under Dean's instruction, then climbed into bed. He peered at his brother through half-lidded eyes; Dean wasn't ready for bed. "You're not coming to bed?" Sam asked, yawning soon after.

Dean smirked. "Not yet, kiddo. I'm gonna wait 'till Dad get's back."

Sam rolled his eyes. "How do you know he's even gonna be back tonight?"

"'Cause he told me he would be," Dean said matter-of-factly. Sam huffed; Dad _never_ kept to his word, so it was highly unlikely he'd actually be back when he said he would be. "Now Sam, don't give me that look. Trust me, Dad'll be back."

 _Doubtful_ , Sam thought, but didn't vocalize his uncertainties. He let Dean tuck him in, then before he was about to drift off, he murmured, "So you're okay now?"

Dean seemed to pause in whatever he was doing, before the low reassurance came: "Yeah, Sammy. I am. Thanks."

Sam hummed in content before he fell asleep, glad that he'd done his deed.

Dad returned an hour later, much to Dean's relief. Thanks to Sam, the burden of the hunt had been lifted off of his shoulders temporarily, but he didn't know if the memories could be repressed for much longer. Once Dad came into the motel room, Dean rushed to his side and engulfed him in the tightest hug he could possibly summon. Dad's firm hand patted his back and the man muttered, "Got it, kiddo. Put its whole family down. It's all gonna be okay now."

Dean sighed in relief. The images would never be freed from his mind, but maybe some good news could put them to rest for one night.

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